


Lost and Found

by multifarious



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Aveline is a good bro, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hawke's mom just wants grandkids to spoil, Varric knows everyone, Varric x Fem Hawke Romance, no one dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-15 21:16:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13039560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifarious/pseuds/multifarious
Summary: When Hawke goes missing, Varric has to come to terms with his not so hidden feelings.  Hawke already knows how she feels for a certain writer, but has to let go of the past before she can move on.  With the help of a vile potion and some spectral parenting, maybe, just maybe these two will get their happy ever after.





	1. Always in the last place you look

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a couple of years ago, and with some encouragement I'm bringing it out of the moth balls. Fair warning this is not finished. It was at one point but the computer ate it much to my dismay. I plan for 4 chapters in total, chapter 2 is finished and chapter 3 is in rewrites, 4 is unwritten for the moment. Please be patient with me, this is the longest story I've ever written and I'm still learning. Thanks to my beta reader Stitch for all her encouragement and help. Comments inspire me, so let me know what you liked or that you liked it :)

     Varric Tethras stepped off the gangplank of the _ Siren's Sister,  _ lighter in step than he had been in several weeks. Orlais was nice but Kirkwall was home. He had been sent to Val Royeaux, jewel of the Orlesian Empire, to negotiate a trade deal with some of the merchant nobles there on behalf of his family. He had tried his best to wriggle out of going but for all his smooth talking he had still been sent anyway. It was in fact because of his silver tongue he'd been chosen for the mission, as the Orlesians lived for what they referred to as The Game. As far as Varric had been able to determine, The Game consisted mostly of bullshitting and not much else, but he was a champion in that area and had quickly endeared himself to the merchants there. 

 

     He had found himself wandering the docks of Val Royeaux listening to the sailors’ tales when a familiar ship captain had called out to him. It had been a pleasant surprise to see Isabela's ship docked there and he took her up on her offer of passage back to Kirkwall. Free of course; until Isabela paid him back he was still one of the owners of  _ the Siren’s Sister  _ (the other of course being Hawke).

 

     Lost in his musings Varric let the ebb and flow of the Hightown crowds slide around him as he made his way to the Hawke estate. Absently he played with the small pouch that he had been carrying since Val Royeaux. He never went anywhere without bringing Hawke back a little something, usually an interesting book or new weapon. This particular gift, a necklace, came with more meaning than a tool or souvenir, and it made him a little nervous at how Hawke would react. 

 

     He found his way through the convoluted streets of the city to Hawke's house. Pausing, he took in the newly renovated Hawke estate. The house had belonged to her grandparents but had fallen into disrepair after Hawke's uncle had sold it to pay for his gambling debt. It had taken Hawke a few bribes to get her mother’s petition to have the house reinstated to them through the court. Varric wasn't sure how much of her share of the profits from their expedition to the Deep Roads she had sunk into the monstrosity. However much it was, the effort had paid off and now it was livable once more. The door knocker had been his favorite addition, a cheeky gargoyle who held the knocker in one hand and was making a rude gesture with the other. It never failed to amuse him every time he came over.

 

     Bodahn answered the door with his usual efficiency.  Disapproval radiated from his fellow dwarf as he glared at Varric, he gave a small half shrugged apology for his travel-worn appearance. It wasn't that Bodahn didn't like Varric, he just couldn't help imagining what all that mud would do to his nice clean floors. Bodahn cleaned the way the Chantry went to war, with zealotry and fervor, not stopping till all traces of the offending party had been dealt with.

     “Mistress Hawke is not at home, sirrah.” Bodahn answered the inevitable question before Varric could even open his mouth.

     “Can you tell me where ' _ Mistress’  _ Hawke can be found?” Varric smirked.

 

     “No I cannot, sirrah, she hasn't been home for several days. ” Bodahn hesitated a moment. He wasn't normally a dwarf who gossiped but sirrah Tethras always took him seriously anytime concern for his mistress overrode his naturally tight-lipped tendencies. Plus he wiped his boots off anytime he came inside the estate, that had to count for something. “She and the Madam had a …..bit of a falling out, sirrah.”

 

     “Let me guess, Hawke's refusal to be married off?” the other dwarf nodded and Varric motioned him to continue.

 

     “Madam Leandra was perhaps a  _ tad _ more verbal than usual.” Varric translated this to:  _ screaming her head off.  _ Now that they were no longer scraping by Hawke's mother was of the opinion that Hawke should marry and start popping out little Hawkes. “Then all was quiet until we heard the door slam a little while later.” That was bad. So long as Hawke was yelling at you, you were fine. It was when she got calm that bad things were about to happen , usually to the idiots they were fighting.

     “Don't worry Bodahn, I'm sure she's just gone to a friend’s to cool off.” he reassured. “I'll find her.” Bodahn visibly relaxed at Varric's words.

     Firmly ignoring the sliver of unease trickling down his spine Varric hefted his travel pack back onto his shoulder and headed off to a certain Guard-Captain's office. If anyone would know where Hawke was it was Aveline. For as long as he had known the two they had been close, their friendship had been forged in the fires of battles and the Blight. Aveline looked after Hawke like she was her own kin and as annoying as her nagging occasionally was, she also had kept Hawke and her motley crew out of prison more than once.

     He found the Captain's nose deep in paperwork (as usual) muttering about fool lords and idiot crooks. He knocked gently on the door frame of her office, ready to duck out of the way lest she assume he was one of the fool lords and throw something (again) .

     “Varric!” she exclaimed. ‘Thank the Maker you're back.” She motioned him to one of the few chairs that was free of paper and rose to shut the door behind him. Varric's unease returned as he got a good look at the Guard-Captain's face, she had that special frown she reserved for when she was worried for one of their group. She gave him the once-over taking in his travel weary appearance before asking “Have you been to Hawke's yet?” a note of hope inching into her voice.

     “Just came from there.” he replied taking the one chair not piled with papers, ledgers or evidence.

     “Hawke?”

     “Not there.”

     “Maker's breath, I suppose it was too much to hope for.” she leaned a hip against her desk.

     “Mind filling me in, Aveline?”

     “Hawke and Leandra had a fight, a big one. After which she came over to my house and spent the whole night getting plastered, but in the morning she was gone. I returned from my shift to find Donnic passed out, a piece of paper pinned to his shirt with only a smiley face drawn on it. He hasn't been able to remember much about what happened and no one's seen her since.”

     “That's not much to get worried about Aveline, you know she wouldn't go adventuring without telling you in person.” A rule that had come about due to an unfortunate and embarrassing adventure (involving several casks of dwarven ale and more giant spiders than you ever wanted to see) that everyone had agreed never to speak of again. “And it's not like Hawke can't handle herself,” he reasoned.

     “True, and I wouldn't be worried if that hadn't been brought to me” she pointed to a cloth wrapped bundle on the chair next to him. He reached out to pull the oilcloth off of a sickeningly familiar bow. It gleamed softly in the light of the office, it's ebony frame and gilt edges as well known to him as his own crossbow Bianca. The sliver of dread that he'd been trying to ignore found a new home as a cold knot of fear in his stomach.

     “Where....” was all he managed to choke out as he gently lifted Hawke's bow out of the rags and ran his hands over it noting new nicks and scratches. He had gifted it to Hawke after the Deep Roads expedition, her last bow having not survived an encounter with a darkspawn's face. The bow hadn't done much against the creature's head but it had bought Hawk enough time to introduce her dagger to its ribs. He remembered the day he had given it to her, the expression of unholy glee on her face had made the difficulty of getting the Antivan marvel worth it. She was so ridiculously proud of the thing that she took it with her nearly everywhere. She was not easily parted from it and he couldn't deny the feeling of warmth that he got every time he saw her with it. He had also cringed in terror the one time she had recklessly risked her life to save it from a dragon they'd been fighting.

     “Early this morning before dawn one of the guards found it on his rounds in Lowtown, half under the body of an Undercut thug. It had been one hell of a fight from what he could tell, said it looked like she had taken out at least half the gang given the number of bodies left. I've had a few of the guard making discreet inquiries but so far nothing.” She sighed and ran a hand over her face “Wherever Hawke is she either doesn't want to be found or is being kept from being found.”

     Varric was unsurprised that the guardsman had recognized Hawke's weapon, she went out drinking with many of the city guard on a regular basis. Hawke and Varric were of the same mind that it was good to have friends who could look the other way occasionally in exchange for a few drinks and help beating the shit out of the street gangs.

     “I'll find her Aveline.” he promised grimly. If someone had taken  _ his  _ Hawke they would pay and pay dearly for that mistake.

     Varric rolled through Lowtown like a thundercloud and just as friendly. Local folk dodged out of his way and those that didn't regretted it immediately, finding themselves subjected to a hobnailed boot or sharp jab to the ribs. He motioned to one of the urchins that perpetually hung around the Hanged Man to follow him inside. Street kids made for the best messengers, their small size made them hard to catch, and often they were ignored by adults. They were also fiercely loyal so long as you didn't double cross one. It also helped that he didn't treat them like they were morons as so many did. So now Varric had his own little army of informants that he would put to work, someone somewhere in this town knew where his Hawke was and by the ancestors he would know who before sundown.

     “Wait here” he told the kid, tossing a coin to the bartender knowing Coriff would feed the kid a decent meal while he wrote the messages. He wended his way around the tables and headed to the back of the tavern where the private rooms were. Varric ignored Norah's surprised “Oh!” brushing by her with a brisk “Not now Norah” his mind already sorting out who in Darktown to threaten and who to bribe. With these thoughts in mind he threw open the door to his suite stopping cold in tracks not believing what he saw before him.

     “Hawke” the name half whisper half prayer. Varric dropped his bag as he rushed to her side picking her up from where she was sprawled passed out on the floor. “Hawke!” she was still breathing,  _ thank the ancestors _ , but she was burning up. Her light armor was covered in blood but a quick check found no injures at least no surface ones. “Hawke come on beautiful I need you to wake up” he shook her gently but to no avail. He gathered her close as he tried to remember anything Merrill and Anders had taught them about first aid.

 


	2. Polterguide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke gets some advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated a long time about cutting this chapter, but ultimately decided what the hell and went for it. Thanks to the lovely Stitches for all the support and encouragement and beta reading. I would have given up on this long ago if not for her. Chapter 3 is in the works so one of these days I have it finished. Thanks to everyone who read chapter 1, comments give me courage lol

 

Hawke found herself standing in front of her old house in Lothering and knew something was wrong. She had seen her home many times in her dreams (and in more than a few nightmares), but this didn't feel like a dream, everything was too clear, too bright. There was none of the disjointed imagery that one usually saw in the Fade. And the light was all wrong. In the Fade the light came from all around with no clear source, but here the light came from above.

 

She tilted her head and felt the warmth of the sun beat down on her face and smelled the sweet scent of hay on the breeze. Noise from the fields drew her around to the back of the house. Turning the corner, she could see Carver practicing with his great sword against the dead oak that had stood in place for many a villain in their childhood. Carver waved when he caught sight of her and she returned the gesture absently. She watched as Carver once again took up arms against their old adversary.

 

“Hello Nug,” came a soft and well remembered voice from behind. Hawke turned to see her father leaning against the porch rails. He looked much as he had when she was young, his dark hair ruffled in the breeze. His clear blue eyes (so like hers) filled with tenderness for his firstborn, though the lines of worry that were once so ubiquitous had eased into almost nothing. There had never been any doubt as to parentage when the two had stood side by side. Hawke often wondered if that was why she and her mother were so often at odds. She guessed it was hard to deal with heartbreak when you have such an obvious reminder of all you've lost hanging around.

 

“ Am I dead?” she asked, her eyes making a slow and non threatening sweep of the area noting what would be good for weapons should this turn out to be a desire demon. She cursed herself a fool for not realizing sooner that she was unarmed and unarmored. Stupid Dreamworld.

 

“Not yet,” came his dry reply. “Nor are you dreaming.”

 

“So where am I then?”

 

“Halfway between the two; think of it as sort of a crossroad,” he moved down the steps to where she stood. Hawke decided that the pitchfork was her best bet if things went south.

 

“Hmm, so what are you? A figment of my imagination? A spirit? A demon?”

 

“It's complicated Nug, but I'm neither a demon nor a spirit as you know it. Closer to a ghost but not.”

 

“That's very helpful Da.” she snarked.

 

He chuckled “I'm not a desire demon, Nug. I don't want you to stay here. I am, however, a father who misses his family and you, child, are a Hawke who dances with death too often.” She shifted her feet guiltily. ”You look tired, been pushing yourself too hard again?” She shrugged. The elder Hawke began walking and motioned her to follow. She held her peace till they reached the giant apple tree at the edge of the yard. Malcolm made himself comfortable on the small bench there. “Alright Nug, talk.” He gave his eldest what her siblings and she called “the Look”. It said quite plainly: I _can sit here all day and stare at you because I already know what you've been up to so suck it up and confess already_. Hawke thought over everything she knew of the fade and demons and none of it added up to this place. Might as well go with it she decided.

 

“Andraste's Tits, Da! I don't even know where to start. I got Carver killed, Bethany's in the Circle, mother's trying to make me into a ' _ Proper Kirkwall Lady _ ', and I'm in love with my best friend.” she flopped down on the cool grass beside him, a reflex action she was only half aware of.

 

“Language, Nug.” came the soft warning .  She winced. The elder Hawke was quiet for a moment and she resisted the urge to fidget. “First off I hardly think you got your brother killed .  Unless you joined the Grey Wardens and didn't tell anyone, there was no way for you to know where the darkspawn were going to appear. I love my son but we both know that Carver is a terribly rash hot-headed young man and it's a wonder he lived as long as he did.”

“But, if-”

 

“But and if, nothing Nug. You did the best you could. Your brother has always felt he needed to prove himself, now his issues are between him and the Maker. Carver knows this and doesn't blame you so stop beating yourself up about it. Now Bethany on the other hand is a smart girl, do you really think that if she wanted out she couldn't find a way to tell you, hmmm?”

 

“True, she doesn't sound that unhappy in her letters. I just.....” Hawke struggled to find the words.

 

“You feel guilty for feeling relieved that you no longer have to hide her.” Malcolm finished. Hawke gaped at him “Close your mouth, Nug, you look like a fish.” Hawke's mouth snapped shut as she flushed red in embarrassment. Malcolm leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “No one blames you for any of this Nug, you've done more than most could or even would. The circle is not all bad; until I met your mother I was content with my studies there.” Hawke nodded, her father withdrew his hand and began rummaging in his pockets to pull out a tobacco pouch. They watched Carver for a bit while he filled and lit his pipe. Hawke remembered her father telling her that people were more likely to dismiss the strange smells left on his clothing from brewing potions if they thought it was just a particularly acrid blend of tobacco. “Now tell me about this friend.”

 

“What, you don't want to advise me on how to deal with mother?” she quipped.

 

“Oh no, you're on your own with that. Besides, I'm more interested in this friend, he must be something special to have caught your eye.” he chuckled.

 

“Some help you are.” Hawke smiled, she took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I'm not sure where to start.”

 

“I find it best to start at the beginning.” She rolled her eyes at this.

 

“His name is Varric. Bethany and I met him awhile back when we were looking for work … ..........”

 

Malcolm patiently listened to his daughter, his small smile growing a little bigger as time passed.”

“................and he's been off on some sort of trade negotiations for his family.” she finished.

 

“I think I've read one of his books.” her father mused, exhaling a ring of smoke “ _ Guards and Garters  _ if I remember right. He's quite a good storyteller.”

 

“You're not upset?”

 

“Why would I be upset Nug? So he's a dwarf, so what? Is he there when you need him?”

 

Hawke thought about all she'd been through and Varric had been there through all of it, right beside her. “Always.” she breathed.

 

“Then it doesn't matter if he's a dwarf or an elf, or a Templar.”

 

“What no mages?” She asked cheekily

 

“No mages. They'll only break your heart.” he winked and she laughed. “You should tell him how you feel.”

 

She fiddled with a blade of grass before confessing. “What if he doesn't feel the same? Or worse laughs me off?”

 

“Nug, let me tell you a family secret. Leandra couldn't stand me when we first met. But you know the Hawke family motto?” he waited.

 

“A Hawke never gives up,” she supplied surprised, her parents had always seemed so in love.

 

He continued “And that's what I did, I found reasons to see her, things to talk to her about, wrote terrible poetry to her and didn't quit till she fell madly in love with me. From everything you've told me you and your Varric are already close so you have an edge I didn't.”

 

Hawke contemplated for a bit. “He doesn't stand a chance then, does he?”

 

“Not against a Hawke.” They both laughed and Hawke couldn't wait for Varric to return.

 

xXx


End file.
